Nikolai crossed his arms. “I offer you the same I would any brother. Do you want me to kill you?”
I sucked in a breath. Dante locked eyes with me like this was a first.
I waited.
The room was tense.
Trace made a move to Chase but Nixon held her back.
Chase stared down into his glass and said. “Yes.”
I covered my mouth with my hands.
“But I’m drunk.” He spoke slowly. “Ask when I’m sober.”
“That’s fair.” He patted Chase on the shoulder and reached for a wine bottle, “All right, who do I need to fix up? I see blood on every boss and only one person slightly capable of doing sutures that won’t leave scarring.”
Sergio flipped him off.
And slowly, the guys sat down, and let him poke them with needles.
Conversation flowed just like wine — and the entire time, I swear, I never saw Chase even blink.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Dante
MY BODY ACHED.
My heart hurt.
My eyes burned.
I walked El to what used to be our shared bathroom, and pulled her in to the shower, stripping her blood-soaked clothes off of her while she numbly watched me.
Mil’s blood.
It was Mil’s blood that ran down the drain.
And I was a bastard for not being sorry. I would do it again. I would pull the trigger. That sort of betrayal put everything these guys had ever worked for — in jeopardy.
And for what?
Money?
I know Chase knew this, I know the guys knew this — but it didn’t make it easier. I think it would be easier if it was an accident.
Instead, it was planned.
A planned betrayal.
Against those you love.
It’s like sleeping with a gun pointed at someone’s heart knowing that you have plans to pull the trigger and watch them bleed.
Plans to enjoy it.
“Look at me,” I gripped her chin between my hands. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” I kissed her cheeks, kissed her tears. “Tell me what to do.”
She shuddered out a breath. “Exactly what you’re doing.”
I washed her body, angry that I saw bruises that sure as hell weren’t there the day before. Terrified of what I was capable of when it came to the woman I was touching.
I would destroy the world for her.
And I would demand she let me.
“I was supposed to die,” She admitted.
I paused. “What?”
“Chris and I were supposed to get in an accident.” Tears filled her eyes. “I was her out.”
“You for her freedom,” I corrected her.
She nodded. “And the sick part? I don’t know anything! They want me to finish a damn job! They want me for my blood! It’s a death bent on pride and revenge!”
“It’s the Russians.” I finally answered before finishing with her arms and moving down her thighs, my hands danced across her lips as I gripped her hips between my fingers and kissed her belly button, resting my head against her stomach before looking up.
Water cascaded down her hair, across her stomach, onto my face.
“I would do anything for you,” I whispered reverently. “Tell me you’d do the same for me. Tell me no amount of money, no amount of power—”
“Nothing,” She fell to her knees in front of me. “Nothing could separate me from you.”
I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear her say that until a giant weight lifted from my shoulders. Until I gripped her body, my kisses frantic as I lifted her against the tiled wall and thrust into her again and again.
Until she screamed out my name on her lips.
And I caught it with my tongue while I plunged into her one last time, painfully aware of how much I would destroy — if she ever betrayed me.
If she ever betrayed us.
“Thank you,” She said between soft kisses after I let her slide back down to her feet. “For saving me.”
I sighed, our heads touched. “I think you have that backward.”
She frowned.
“You were never the one that needed saving, El. I on the other hand…” I gripped her wrist and pressed her palm against my heart. “I did.”
Our mouths met softly.
We kissed until the shower went cold.
And when I picked up her shivering body and laid her across my bed like a feast, I tried to make her forget about the blood.
The death.
I tried to thank her for saving me.
When I never even realized I needed saving.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Chase
I WASN’T SUPPOSED to be planning my wife’s funeral.
I stared down into the bottle of whiskey in one hand and the stain of her blood in my other.
“Hey, can I come in?” Phoenix was already walking in. I didn’t have the energy to point a gun at him or even respond. Instead, I lifted the bottle to my lips and winced as more tears gathered in my eyes.
Fuck I smelled her everywhere.
I pressed a palm to my eye.
I needed to burn the room.
Torch it.
And everything in it.
My jumbled mind couldn’t get past the betrayal. My heart refused to stop cracking, and with each crack it felt like my last breath.
“Chase,” Phoenix licked his lips. “She was your wife, she was my sister.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“I don’t know why she did this — but I do know what this life does to good people. I just talked with Dante — she was going to kill Chris and El in a car accident, that was the plan, and they would let her out.”
“Shit.” How much more could the human heart take? I felt like I had a knife in my back and one stuck in between my ribs. “But since she married Dante…” My voice trailed off.
“I have something for you, I don’t know… I don’t know if you want it. I don’t know if it’s going to make things better or worse.”
“A gunshot to the head would make things better, Phoenix, just do it already.”
He smiled sadly. “I’m not shooting you.”
“Then get out and find Nikolai,” I spat, truly feeling suicidal, like I didn’t want the privilege of breathing.
He held out a black envelope. “This was delivered by one of the De Lange associates a half hour ago.”
With shaking hands. I took it and frowned. “You know what it is?”
“I have an idea.” Phoenix shoved his hands in his pockets. “Burn it, read it, I don’t care.”
He walked out of the room and shut the door quietly behind him.
I chucked the envelope across the room and stared it down while I downed another gulp of whiskey.
I wanted to burn it.
I wanted to pretend it was her so I could yell at it. So I could get answers, so I could ask.
Why.
Just. Why.
Why I wasn’t enough.
Why we weren’t enough.
Why she broke us.
Why she shattered my heart.
I wanted to ask her if it was worth it. All of it.
“Is this what you fucking wanted?” I shouted at the envelope. “To destroy me?” I fell to my knees in front of it and picked it up again.
I jerked the paper out and stared at her perfect penmanship.
Of her speaking to me from her grave.
A grave that would be dug too soon.
For a wife I wanted to grow old with.
Have children with.
I couldn’t look away.
I started to read.
Chase,
I love you. I want you to know that if you’re reading this, it means something went wrong.
I never wanted to hurt you.
I know how lame that sounds.
I know how arrogant it sounds, and I’m the one writing it.
I thought… I t
hought I could do a job on the side, help the Petrov family, they needed to get shipments in the country, and I knew a way to do it.
Things were fine for the first two months.
I rarely saw them.
And then, Andrei started calling on me or my guys for odd jobs, he paid well, so they did them, and I allowed it.
I got in too deep.
And when I realized what he was actually doing, not just moving drugs but illegal weapons, and a sex ring I still have no information on. I decided to start gathering intel, just in case I’d need a way out.
He manipulated me.
So I tried to manipulate him right back.
It backfired.
He found out.
Destroyed most of the evidence I had.
And owned me.
He owned me, Chase.
It was my arrogance.
It was never planned betrayal.
And then he offered me another out — a way to go back to you, a way to forget everything.
El.
I’m ashamed to admit I took it.
I didn’t know her. She was just another target.
And in the grand scheme of things. You were my reason for living, you and the family we were trying to build, the life we had, our future.
Obviously, that didn’t work out since she just left here with Dante.
I saw his face when I got up from the dinner table.
He loves her.
And he should.
There is no way out, Chase.
I’m writing this because I see no way out other than to leave you, to protect you, to protect the rest of the families.
Please forgive me.
Forgive me for not being enough.
Forgive me for not being stronger.
Forgive me for not telling you how much I love you every second of every day. Forgive me for being a coward.
Forgive me for not being worthy of the Abandonato name.
The white horse… the one you’ve been searching for, the one Phoenix refuses to let you have? It’s been right in front of you this entire time.
I glanced up, my eyes frantic, then looked back down.
I constantly moved it, it was like a game. I wanted you to find it, but I also felt like as long as it was watching over us — everything would be okay. Look on my dresser, in my jewelry box.
It’s not very big.
But it means everything to me.
Because it’s part of our story.
And I hope that one day, you’ll find someone who can help you continue it. One day, you’ll find someone who isn’t constantly competing or in your shadow, but someone who allows you to protect them, to give them the love they deserve.
I never deserved you.
I took you anyway.
I’ll never be sorry for those moments in your arms.
But I’d rather burn in Hell then steal the smile from your face, the laughter from your heart.
Please live.
Please.
And know. I love you.
And will love you.
Forever.
—Emiliana De Lange Abandonato
I read the letter twice.
As tears rolled down my face onto her handwriting.
And with slow steps, I made my way to the dresser.
The white horse was exactly where she’d said it would be. I clutched it in my hand, my body convulsed.
With a cry I fell to my knees, still holding it, still wishing it was magic that could bring her back.
Wishing it was me who was dead.
Not her.
Not the woman I loved.
Not the woman who’d risked it all — and lost.
I held the horse out on my palm and vowed.
I would never be the same.
Never.
And I would hold onto my resentment, until it turned into anger, until it burned and fueled the hate.
Because I didn’t want to feel.
Not anymore.
I stood and shoved the white horse into my pocket.
Another knock sounded.
Trace let herself in, closing the door behind her.
She walked directly into my arms.
“I wish I would have married you instead,” I confessed. “Maybe then this wouldn’t hurt so fucking bad.”
“Because you never loved me the way you loved her.” She cupped my face and brushed a kiss across my cheek. “It hurts because you loved her.”
“It hurts because she broke my fucking heart,” I rasped.
It was minutes.
Hours.
Days.
I wasn’t sure.
Finally, Trace left.
And I stared up at the ceiling, clutching a white horse in my right hand, and a bottle of whiskey in my left, wondering.
When I would ever feel okay again?
EPILOGUE
Dante
“HOW DOES IT feel?” I held out a carrot to the cow.
El frowned. “It’s not a horse.”
“Don’t cows eat vegetables?”
“And I’m the one that has to stay in college,” she muttered bitterly.
I pulled her into my arms and kissed her forehead while the cow reached for the carrot over my shoulder.
Trace jogged down to us. “Dinner’s ready and why are you trying to feed a cow a carrot?”
“It’s a vegetable.” I shrugged.
“Men,” Trace muttered, grabbing El’s hand and pulling her away from me.
I glanced up at the perfect porch.
A porch I never thought I’d see again.
Tex sat at the head of the table.
Frank on the other side.
And the rest of the bosses and their wives started passing around plates.
And then there was Chase.
Sitting in the corner.
Staring out into the field.
One week and he hadn’t spoken to anyone other than hello and goodbye.
Trace and Sergio got the most words out of him.
And it was tearing Nixon apart. To see his best friend so broken.
I rubbed a bruise on my cheek, and winced at the contact.
I let him beat the shit out of me for seven days straight and then tapped out and shoved Nixon into the ring.
I’d never seen so much anger in another human being. I thought I was the King of anger.
And then this happened.
Chase wasn’t a man anymore.
It’s like my monster saw his loss and fed on his empty soul. I felt light.
And he went dark.
His eyes were dull.
His complexion pale all the time.
He looked like he spent his nights battling demons, and his days drinking them away.
El whistled me over.
I dropped the carrot and jogged to my family.
And when Chase still didn’t join, I grabbed him a plate and brought it over.
We sat.
And ate in silence.
At least he was eating.
“We sparring later?” I asked.
“You finally healed up enough to let me beat you to death again?” he mused, his lips twitching.
“Barely,” I grumbled. “It’s not exactly fair if you can’t fight back.”
He shrugged.
Nixon walked over and joined us. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Always dangerous.” Trace sat down followed by El until the entire family surrounded Chase on the ground with their food and drinks.
He didn’t seem to mind.
Maybe he just lacked the energy to get up on his feet and walk. Maybe his heart didn’t know how to pump the necessary blood to each organ anymore.
Maybe it really was unfixable.
“Our family lawyer’s old as hell and we’re going to need a new one to represent the families in the next few years, we need wills drawn up, money dispersed, all that sort of shit. And most of all we need someone good at their damn job.”
&
nbsp; “So?” Chase shrugged.
“So, find one.” Nixon grinned.
“One what?” Chase fired back. “I can’t just walk down the street with my gun pointed and ask for a lawyer.”
“I’ll get you a list,” Sergio offered. “You interview them, pick one you think is reliable and we go from there.”
“This sounds like bitch work.” Chase glared.
Nixon just shrugged. “Well, the way I see it, we’re in need of one and it will at least force you to shower.”
Chase swore.
I waited for him to say no.
But he said nothing.
Which meant he was thinking about it.
Which meant I wouldn’t be losing any more sleep, standing outside his room, waiting for a gunshot to go off.
Waiting for my best friend to join his wife.
“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll do it.”
Read Chase’s second chance story, Eulogy, releasing February 2018
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RACHEL VAN DYKEN is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Want to be kept up to date on new releases? Text MAFIA to 66866!
You can connect with her on Facebook or join her fan group Rachel's New Rockin Readers. And make sure to check out her website.
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